


Of Pasta and Tea

by Rose_of_Pollux



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Gen, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-03
Updated: 2017-04-03
Packaged: 2018-10-14 11:25:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10535502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rose_of_Pollux/pseuds/Rose_of_Pollux
Summary: In which Illya suddenly and miraculously becomes an expert chef… except not really.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place in 1961 (second year of their partnership).

Napoleon was more than a bit surprised when, upon returning home from another solo mission, he caught the distinctive scent of garlic-and-herb mushroom pasta. Illya appreciated good food, but his cooking skills were nowhere near as advanced as Napoleon’s. Needless to say, his partner seemed to have become a cooking virtuoso in a matter of days, assuming Napoleon’s nose wasn’t playing tricks on him.

“I’m home!” he exclaimed, as he entered and sniffed the welcoming air. It was definitely pasta, and it was, indeed, from their apartment.

“You are just in time for lunch!” Illya said, indicating the table. The pasta was sitting grandly in the center of the table, with breadsticks and a salad bowl off to the side. “And once you are finished with this, there is cannoli for dessert!”

“It looks and smells amazing,” Napoleon said, sincerely. He was already hungry just smelling it. He glanced over at the kitchen; a copper kettle was on the stove—no doubt Russian tea in progress. “I have to ask--”

“How did I make such a perfect lunch?” Illya finished. “Ah, Napoleon, it was truly an inspiration!”

From her perch on the arm of the couch, Baba Yaga meowed in agreement, staring hungrily at the food.

“Sit, sit, sit!” Illya said, unusually chipper as he led Napoleon to a chair. “And try some of it!”

Napoleon arched an eyebrow at him for a moment before sampling the pasta. His eyes widened.

“ _Wow._ ”

“Is it that good?” Illya asked.

“Good? Illya, this tastes just like the pasta Ma makes!”

“Well, she did give me the recipe…”

They bantered and ate lunch together, and once Napoleon was stuffed to the gills, he let out a contented sigh.

“I’m still curious as to how you could learn to cook a full Italian meal in just three days,” he said. “Not that I’m complaining, of course.”

“That is my secret,” Illya said, with a smirk, as he gathered the dishes. He glanced at Napoleon and tutted at him. “You have sauce all over your shirt.”

“Well, I’d forgotten how ravenous I was; guess I wasn’t paying attention to anything else. Doesn’t matter; I have to wash up anyway,” Napoleon said, getting to his feet. “Thanks again for lunch.”

“You are most welcome; I shall have the tea ready by the time you return.”

“Sounds great.”

Napoleon got himself a new shirt and headed to the washroom to change and freshen up. It was while he was doing this that he heard the phone ring.

“Hello?” he heard Illya answer the phone. “Oh, good afternoon, Mother! …Yes, Napoleon just got back an hour ago; we had lunch.” He lowered his voice, and Napoleon had to turn the faucet off and lean out of the washroom to hear him. “Thank you ever so much for the food. I do feel awkward taking the credit, though…”

 _Aha!_ Napoleon silently exclaimed. _So much for his “secret!” No wonder the pasta tasted just like Ma’s—it_ was _hers!_

He was more amused than anything else; it was so typical of his mother to urge Illya to do something like this in order to impress Napoleon.

Napoleon now strode out of the washroom and stood with his arms folded behind Illya.

“Well, thank you so much again, Mother. Perhaps next time…” Illya trailed off, finally noticing Napoleon and turning as red as a beet. “Ahh, Mother? I think Napoleon would like to speak to you now.”

He thrust the phone into Napoleon’s hands and turned away, still blushing, as Napoleon chatted with his mother, who was spending the day with Napoleon’s father in Atlantic City, and would be back later that evening to take them all out for dinner. With the arrangement made, Napoleon hung up and then faced his partner again with an amused look.

“So…”

“She told me to say I made it, Napoleon,” Illya said, sounding very embarrassed. “At first I tried to tell her that it would be rather awkward, but she insisted. Then I questioned why she would want me to take the credit, and she was rather vague with her answer, but reading between the lines… Well, it seems as though she has taken a liking to me and would like to see to it that I give you reasons to keep me around.”

“Well, I’ve already got those reasons without food being a part of this,” Napoleon said, amused. “But it’s very much like Ma to do exactly what you described; she really does like you a lot. She never even met any of my other partners, and even though I never brought them into the picture, I don’t think she wanted to meet any of them. But she and Dad invited you for Christmas in a heartbeat. And they both liked what they saw.”

“Clearly,” Illya said, still embarrassed. He held up the tea tray. “I can assure you that this tea is entirely mine.”

Napoleon grinned.

“Well, I’ll tell you what…” he said. “We’ve got a few hours before Ma and Dad stop by here. How about I teach you how to make this pasta dish, using Ma’s recipe?”

“I thought we were going to an eatery for dinner tonight?” Illya asked. “That’s why your parents are picking us up.”

“So that means we’ve got a meal ready and waiting for tomorrow; we’d just need to reheat it in the oven.”

Illya blinked.

“…I like the way you think,” the Russian said, with a slight smile. “And yes, I would like to learn. It would help with my fending for myself whenever you are sent on missions on your own.”

“…Of course, Ma and Dad wouldn’t mind cooking for you,” Napoleon added. He suppressed a chuckle. “Come to think of it, they’d probably enjoy it.” He took a sip of the tea and smiled again. “Well, the tea is all yours, and it’s amazing, as always.”

“So, then, I am… What is the expression you use? A ‘keeper,’ is that it?” Illya asked, wryly.

Napoleon glanced at him with a fond expression.

“Most definitely.”

And Illya was more than content with that.


End file.
